


One Such Way

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Futurefic, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-04
Updated: 2002-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes legends are wrong. Sometimes things aren't exactly what they seem. Sometimes destiny needs a little help.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	One Such Way

## One Such Way

by Vivid

[]()

* * *

A/N: I had an idea. So I'm going to attempt it. Could be a series. This one is slash lite, since most of the time I can't even write a PWP without turning it into an epic. 

Warnings: Some bad language. I don't care what the spell check says, I'm using the word nemesi. Not beta'ed cause my usual whipping girl is busy evil dreaded Real Life. 

Disclaimer: I don't own red flannel moose pajamas, I don't own moose, or flannel, or the colour red. I don't own my inspiration, although I will take blame for what came of it. I don't own the oddly inspirational sentence. That was written by the very talented Babs, from the Stargate SG1 fandom. Which I also do not own. I don't own Superman, or Lex Luthor, or Smallville, they are owned by DC comics, and WB respectively. I don't own any 15 year old Glenfiddich, or lead crystal glasses (if you want to see which glasses he's using I have a picture. Yes, I really am that sad.) 

My inspiration: "What am I supposed to do with these?" Daniel gestured to the red flannel pajamas liberally decorated with moose. - Jack and the Jammies by Babs (Used with permission.) 

One Such Way  
Vivid 

Lex, leaning against the railing on the balcony of his building, was sipping scotch and pretending he wasn't scanning the skies for Clark. As he finished the drink off, readying himself to just give it up already and go back inside. His eyes still roaming the sky line, promptly got his (carefully unwished) wish and spotted the garish red and blue-ness that was Superman. Then, looking again, promptly inhaled and began choking to death. 

Superman, with his super hearing so acute he could hear a gnat fart, (and they do that a lot) could hear Lex Luthor choking on. He paused and took a deep breath, (super smell doncha know) choking on 15 year old Glenfiddich, which he could still accurately identify after one day, eons ago, when they were friends and had gotten piss-drunk for some reason or another. He, being such a nice guy and all, (it's in the job description, except for Bruce, somehow he gets out of it) would have to dutifully fly over and save his arch nemesis from drowning in expensive scotch. Although, he supposed, it would be a lot easier just to let him die. He grinned to himself (and the various satellites trained on him) picturing the headlines, "Luthor Scion Felled by Rogue Scottish Malt Drink." 

He landed on the balcony with a satisfying crunch, admittedly a little harder then he could have, but even big alien superheroes sometimes need a little petty payback, besides Luthor could afford some cracked tiles. 

By now, Lex had turned an alarming shade of reddish purple, and in a few more moments he'd have matched his shirt, so Superman tapped (a little heavy handed) him on the back. I suppose one could equate that with being smacked with a two by four, only instead of a big bruise in the shape of a line, tomorrow he'll be sporting a pretty handprint along his spine. 

Rather densely, Clark had forgotten a few things, one: Lex even in the face of choking to death was still remotely afraid of heights, and B: No one likes being shoved over the railing of a tall building and if pushed will generally take anyone else with them. 

Once Lex was sure his stomach is done trying to escape, via his mouth, and he wasn't free falling off his big shiny building to splat horribly on the pavement, he let off the death grip he had on a sturdy flannel covered torso. Oh, God no. Anything but that. I know I offended you God, any Gods. Multiple times, but not that. Seeing as he didn't feel he could sink any further into humiliation, he began beating his head against the brick wall of Clark's chest. Hoping he could somehow go splat anyway, or at least just not have to deal with the situation. 

With an oddly gentle gesture, considering his past manhandling, Clark put his hand on Lex's forehead. Lex looked up and they were caught in a moment. You know one of those times when nothing moves, sounds are muted and unimportant, people stop _breathing_ , so as keep it from breaking. Clark realized, just a few seconds after Lex did, that his thumb was rubbing, alright caressing, the skin above and to the left of Lex's temple. 

Which, you'd think, is surprising since it was his hand, but not really since this is Clark we're talking about, the man who expected people not to notice Superman was really Clark Kent: ace reporter without glasses. Although, largely it did work, so maybe it was a little surprising. 

That mutual discovery really shattered the moment. I mean it was in pieces, and the pieces were jumped on top of by a horde of elephants, then flushed down the toilet, ground up and put in the mystery meat in schools across the nation and finally tossed into the sun. In fact, you could almost call it an anti-moment, except for the fact that they were effectively hugging and that neither of them were letting go. Then the lead crystal glass Lex had set on the balcony ledge in his haste to keep from dying, was pushed off by errant gust of wind and clanked against the tile. 

In the next moment they were both at the far ends of the balcony, and for Lex, not having super speed, this was _quite_ impressive. It did seem, however, that he did have super composure, possibly from years of dealing with his father and various other piranhas. So while Clark was still an unpleasant sanguine colour, Lex had gone into complete bastard, 'we're on a last name basis, and that's only because I can't call you 'stupid alien fucker' on TV' mode. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Superman?" he inquired, in tones as if he hadn't just been clinging to the damnable man like a lamprey. 

"You were choking," Superman forced out of embarrassment cum anger frozen vocal cords. What was it about Lex that always made him blush so much? Luthor! Luthor! Not Lex, Lex is dead and Luthor killed him. And don't forget it. 

Lex took in the sudden twitching with nary a raised eyebrow, wispy as they might be, and watched with a certain academic curiosity how Superman straightened like someone had just stuck a steal rod up his ass-his back. 

"Nice jammies. Or is that a new uniform? I'd recommend you stick to your normal attire. As hard as it is taking someone who wears their underwear on the outside seriously, it's quite different when they're wearing cute," he said, stressing the last word in the manner one describes nasty infectious diseases, like e-bola, "moose, across their chest." 

"You must be drunk or crazier then I thought, Luthor," Clark spit back, the odd but not subtle barbs cut through his embarrassment like a sharp knife through tissue paper. 

"Is that flannel? Going back to your roots I see." Lex nearly bit his tongue off over that comment. Treading a bit close, Alexander. 

"What are you talking about?" Superman demanded, getting angry and confused. Did Lex, did _Luthor_ recognize him? And what in the Sam Hill _was he talking about_? He pounded over like a sulky child and pushed Luthor up against the glass balcony doors. 

"You mean you really don't know?" This was the best Christmas present he'd even gotten. Forget what I said before Gods, this is great. He tried not to smile but the image of Clark flying around the city, fighting crime in red flannel pajamas was the funniest thing he had heard in years. He compressed his lips together in an attempt to keep the laughter in, but it was in vain. The corners of his mouth began to twitch, then he started smiling, which then turned into snickering, which finally grew into actual giggling. 

Have you ever seen a grown man giggle? Clark hadn't, until then, he didn't know quite what to do, but after a few seconds started giggling as well. (It later turned out Lex giggling is infectious, like when someone yawns. And part of the reason Lionel was always such a bastard to Lex growing up was because Lex kept giggling at inopportune moments, making everyone else, including Lionel, giggle as well. It's hard to conduct business when giggling.) 

The shadowy Powers That Be, watching the spy satellites feed, were getting a very strange picture. Lex Luthor and Superman, nemesi extraordinare, sitting on the floor of the balcony, in each other's arms, yet again, laughing. The conferred and the spy satellites moved on without a word, in fact they made kind of a crackle-y static noise and went to go spy on the chief of state of something or other. 

But neither Clark nor Lex noticed that, they did notice each other, however. Lex, jacket was long gone, his tie loosened, the top two buttons undone, pants wrinkly from a day's wear and acerbated by sitting on the ground, and still smiling, looking years younger. And Clark, in the red pajamas with moose that started the entire mess, without the thick heavy glasses, that they both knew he didn't need, beaming and looking like a grown up version of his 15-year-old self. 

They were having a moment again. And this time, the lead crystal glass didn't fall. 


End file.
